


The Creature

by areyoukiddingme



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Victorian Attitudes, freakshow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-20 03:11:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9472886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyoukiddingme/pseuds/areyoukiddingme
Summary: Divergence from Canon. What if the waxworks owner hadn't been so dim and the creature was actually trapped inside the future freakshow exhibit?//Updated 2018!





	

The creature sat in the cage with his back to the wall, staring up at the bars of his pen. Screams of the poor, deluded freaks beside him echoed in his ears, only matched in sound by the murmurs and laughter of the guests at the waxworks who were all staring at him and pointing. Just to spite the depraved owner of the establishment he sat against the wall, the worst of his disfigurement hidden from sight and the guests only able to see a pale creature lurking in the shadows. He had rejected the man’s offer of becoming a ‘father’ to the freaks but had somehow become one anyway, having his sanity and composure remaining, but that did not stop their shrieks from grating at his nerves as every day passed, day after day and night after night.

 None of the guests struck him as interesting so he tended not to look, instead burying his nose in the book of poetry that he had read and re-read until he knew every character backwards from the foreword to the publishing date. But every now and then he thought he saw an old friend, perhaps Miss Ives or the kindly theatre owner, only to look up and see another person laughing. That is, until he looked up and saw something truly shocking. A young woman was staring at him through the cage, her hands gripping the bars so tightly that they had turned white and there was something glistening on her cheeks; she was _crying_. He knew he shouldn’t stare as she had paid to see him in such a way, but he kept looking at her from the recesses of his cage, making sure that they were in fact tears and this was not some cruel joke. She continued to grip at the cage and he looked back at her until her parents pulled her away and onto the other attractions. The creature glanced down at the floor of his straw-dusted cage. No-one had ever looked at him like that.

 He never expected to see her again but the next day she re-appeared, this time without her parents. She continued to grip at the bars but this time there were no tears. He could only see her eyes and nose through the mesh bars but he imagined that she was smiling lightly as he noticed her. Once she was sure the creature’s gazed was fixed on her she reached into her reticule to pull out a rolled piece of paper that she surreptitiously dropped into his cage before moving on quickly. Ignoring the women’s shrieks, he crawled forward quickly to pick up the scrap of paper, his hands shaking as he unrolled it, reading the single line of elegantly written script.

 ‘ _You don’t belong in a cage.’_

 He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it as he scooted back into the murky shadows, away from the prying eyes that devoured his visage like predators to a carcass. What could she possibly hope to gain by saying such a thing? Despite all that he had learnt in life, he still felt a glimmer of hope that this young woman may be his saviour. He tried to dash the ridiculous thought from his mind as soon as it arose but found that his mind kept drifting back to the young woman; another young woman. Like the one he’d found at the theatre. Like his intended bride. Like Miss Ives. But none of them were good enough; or, perhaps they were too good for a creature like himself. He had gained so much knowledge of the wicked world that he was living in, but somewhere in his cold and distant heart he felt there was still someone out there that he deserved and would accept him in every aspect, from his face to his cruel past. But then he would look up and see the jeering faces of the people who paid to see freaks like him perform in front of them, oblivious of their needs or feelings, and the hope diminished to an even greater extent.

 The creature could never quite decide whether closing time was a blessing or a nightmare. One the one hand, there were no more crowds of people to laugh at his misfortune. On the other, the pain of the freaks beside him was magnified as he could hear ever whimper, every moan that came from their mouths and it only made him feel worse. If he were on the other side of the bars he would perhaps scoff at their pain but being trapped on the same side, he was struck with a cutting empathy that hardly befitted his nature. The mistress of the establishment left out their tasteless meals before retiring along with the rest of her family and the freaks were left in the darkness, their only light being the moon that shone through the slatted windows as though it was desperately trying to make their situation a better one through illumination. It was deathly silent apart from the occasional moan or whimper, which is why the creature started when he heard a lock creaking open on the other side of the room. He kept his eyes fixed on the door and watched it open silently as a figure stepped through, the vague feminine silhouette the only clue towards the figures identity. They padded forwards on silent feet, approaching the creature before stopping where they usually stopped, their familiar hands clenching onto the bars and eyes and nose visible through the slats. He realised suddenly who the perpetrator was, the young woman who had stared at him for the past two days with such pity, now come as his saviour.

 “You.” He gasped, rising to his feet and approaching her.

 “Yes. You recognise me?” Her voice was sweet and lilting, in contrast to those around him it sounded like the voice of heaven.

 “How could I not?” He was impressively tall, standing parallel to her, the only thing between them the bars of his cage and he felt as though he should introduce himself as to not intimidate her.

 “I am John Clare.” He spoke, cursing the simplicity of his language. He now used that name almost automatically; he preferred it to the name of his long-lost theatre days and he loved its ties with his beloved poetry.

 “I’m Elise Sommerview. I’m here to release you.” She spoke softly and as she did so she seemed to remember her purpose, taking out her lock-picking device and beginning to work on the lock of his cage.

 “I asked my little brother to teach me.” She explained as she worked at the lock. “Only he knows what I’m doing tonight and is perfectly thrilled at the prospect. He always thought I was the demure one of the family, you see. Which I am, in the larger part. I just can’t stand for injustice.”

 The lock opened with a satisfying click and Elise pulled at the heavy metal door. He approached it tentatively before ceremoniously stepping over the threshold, smiling to himself as he did so.

 “Come, you must help me with the others. You know them well, yes?” He nodded. “Then you must 'rally the troops’, so to speak, as I pick the locks.”

 She was acting unbelievably upbeat for the operation that she was attempting to perform, but her optimism paid off as she soon had everyone out of their cages and the creature herded (or carried, in the case of the small boy with no arms or legs) them all outside until they were all shivering on the pavement. Elise looked terrified of the rag-tag group in front of her. The Creature very quickly found out that that wasn’t because of their looks now illuminated by the street-lamps, however.

 “I hadn’t even though of that. Do you know of anywhere they can go?” She sidled up to him, whispering. “I certainly don’t want them on the streets. How could I be so stupid?”

 “Fear not, saviour, I know of a place where they will be safe. You needn’t worry.” He comforted her, staring down at the poor, shaken thing fondly.

 “Will you stay in London?” She asked meekly.

 “I think so. For now, at least.” He surveyed his group while wincing.

 “I want to see you again. Please, come and find me once you have settled.” She said, placing another rolled piece of paper in his palm. “You must go, before they discover you’re missing.”

 “Of course.” He responded, beginning to shepherd his flock towards the place that he knew would be safe. She watched them shamble off with an absent smile on her face; she felt Mr Clare wasn’t quite as simple as he let on. She turned back to the sign advertising the waxworks. How she hoped that the next day there would be 'closed’ signs plastering those garish posters and gaudy statues, bright red and unappealing next to those bright colours. She went home that night with pride filling her chest as she felt she had done something for the good of mankind.

 *

 Elise spent the next few days in nervous tension, anxiously watching the window, waiting for him to appear. She was beginning to wonder whether she had dreamed the entire event. She didn’t have such delusions for long however, as when she was returning from a walk she saw him, pale and striking against the green foliage that surrounded her house.

 “Mr Clare!” She called out, folding her parasol. “You could not have picked a more opportune time, my parents are out for lunch and then subsequently dinner so we needn’t worry about them interrupting us. Come inside, do.”

 He stepped into her opulent home, both admiring and detesting the grandeur simultaneously. It would fit that someone as pretty as her lived amongst such beauty while someone like him was scrambling for a living.

 “I do hope you don’t mind Mr Clare, but I just _have_ to remove this damned corset.” She walked as she spoke, leading him to a quaint little drawing room and stepping behind an oriental-inspired screen. He stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking at the numerous nick-knacks that the maid would have to laboriously clean every few weeks, her work never over as she moved to the next room and the next.

 “Who was that young man that you were with?” He asked abruptly, remembering who she was walking with before leaving him at her gate.

 “Oh, an old friend. I believe our parents want us to be engaged someday but… now, you must tell anyone Mr Clare, but he is a homosexual.”

 He started at her open confessions but she couldn’t see his reactions so continued nevertheless.

 “I pity the poor girl who will have to marry him. Saying that, it will probably be me and it _would_ be nice as the years draw on to live with such a close friend. But can you imagine, living with a man who you don’t love, passionless and yet you’re still expected to have children? The thought of it makes me shudder.”

She threw her corset over the rim of the screen and he looked to the floor quickly, embarrassed at seeing a woman’s undergarments. A few moments later she stepped out from behind the screen, smoothing her skirts.

 “You are admirably transparent, Miss Sommerview.” He said earnestly and she looked up in surprise.

 “I like to think so.” She smiled lightly. “Please sit, Mr Clare.”

 She led him to a chaise lounge where he sat and she perched next to him, her palms folded in her lap. It was a rather confused affair, what with their different social standings and experiences in life one wasn’t quite sure whether it was a formal or informal affair, or an awkward mixture of the two.

 “I have so many questions, you’re so terribly mysterious.” She expressed. “To start, how did you arrive in such an abominable place?”

 “I worked there, at first.” He wrung his hands anxiously in his lap. “Until their little witch of a daughter coaxed me into those cages. I had been there… well, a few months before you arrived.”

 “And the others?”

 “I don’t know of their backstories. They arrived one day and we never spoke. I’m still not entirely sure all of them can.”

 “How cruel.” Elise was deeply saddened by the pain in his eyes and his anxious hands but knew she couldn’t express her feelings through mere words.

 “What book were you reading?” She asked, changing the subject quickly.

 “It was a book of poetry.” He spat out and she was taken aback by his reaction.

 “Do you not like poetry?”

 “Forgive me, I meant nothing of the sort. Poetry is the most beautiful thing that I’ve found on this world. I only scorn because the daughter knew of this love and sought to taunt me with it.”

 “And yet, you are not sickened by it now?”

 “No. I don’t think I ever could be.”

 “It’s funny, I thought of a line from a poem when looking at you for the first time. ’ _How can a bird that is born for joy sit in a cage and sing?_ ’”

 “Blake?”

 “You know it?” Elise exclaimed happily. “I have just thought, aren’t you named after a great English poet? John Clare… ’ _I ne'er was struck before that hour, with love so sudden and so sweet_ ’…”

  _“Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower, and stole my heart away complete_.” He refused to look at her as he continued the poem but she dared to look at him, scrutinizing his features while listening to the delicate words coming from his mouth. How other people could not see beauty in this creation was beyond her understanding.

 “You’re well versed, sir.” She said, blushing ever so slightly but he didn’t seem to notice.

 “As are you.”

 Their gaze met briefly before flitting away again to the inanimate objects that littered the room which they had a sudden and unexplainable fascination with.

 “How are the others?” Elise asked softly. “Where are you staying?”

 He cleared his throat before speaking.

 “We are at a place where people like you, I believe, can volunteer to help. It is struck with cholera but it is safe, for the most part. Some are staying while others are planning on escaping, leaving the country even, and I do not blame them. I only feel sorry for those with hardly enough wits to keep them alive, let alone travel. Sometimes- this may sound cruel, but you have been so honest to me I feel I must be honest to you- I wish they were dead. They are so tormented in living I feel death must be a never-ending bliss. Is that wrong?”

 She shifted up the seat as to be closer to him and placed a warm hand over his cool one, firm and reassuring.

 “Of course not. I have asked about the others so now I may ask about you; how are you, Mr Clare?”

 “I am not _there_ anymore, so I believe I’m alright.” He spoke flippantly but was met with a cool glare from Elise.

 “You’re avoiding my question.” She urged him.

 “I, well, I must admit, I have known many hardships.” He stumbled. “But in this moment, I am perfectly content sitting next to you, Miss Sommerview.”

 She smiled lightly, drawing even closer to him as she tentatively reached out to place her hand on the badly deformed side of his face before impulsively leaning over and kissing him. He felt a shock run through his system at the sensation of someone being so close and intimate with him without warning but the shock soon subsided and he found the close proximity of the young woman very comforting and he actually began to kiss her back, nervously reaching out to cup his hands at the back of her head, feeling her tender skin beneath his palms and even heartbeat starting to synchronise with his own.

 But then something snapped within him. His hands abruptly travelled from the back of her head to her neck and he started to squeeze gently. She slapped him off, standing up indignantly with wide eyes.

 “What _are_ you doing?” She asked, trying to hide her fear in loudly spoken words.

 “What’s your game? Do you know Frankenstein?” He accused her, standing up to match her position.

 “Who?”

 “Or perhaps a Miss Lily?”

 “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 “Of course you do. No-one would do this willingly.” He approached her, wrapping his hands around her neck again with no resistance from her. She seemed breathless already.

 “What do you plan to do, humiliate me further?” He asked rhetorically as he was now tightening his grip so firmly she didn’t have the capacity to respond. “I have already fallen for tricks that your kind have set out for me. I won’t do that again.”

Her face reddened as she gasped and choked for air and she slapped and pulled at his hands but he didn’t budge, malice in his eyes as the room swam before her and she began to lose consciousness. That is when he let her go, letting her fall to the floor in a gasping heap. She didn’t see whether he was smiling at her shaken frame or horrified at what he had done, but either way he had left the house quickly, leaving her on the floor wondering what was wrong with the peculiar man.

*

Elise wasn’t quite sure what to make of the events that occurred the other day but she knew she had to find Mr Clare to find some sort of resolution; was it something she said? Did? So she casually mentioned how she wished to become more charitable in her fashionable social groups in the hope that one would pipe up about a place struck with cholera where she could volunteer. Most of the responses were mere murmurs and nods of approval but eventually she got the response she desired, an older gentleman who told her of a place where she could feed those in need and that he would gladly accompany her tomorrow evening, if she would wish. She gratefully accepted the offer and spent the rest of the day on tenterhooks as she might soon see her beloved Mr Clare again.

 At the charity shelter she was provided with a mask and the anxiety about being in close proximity of ill people began to set in. She was not truly feeling charitable towards them as it was all a ruse, but she felt she must go along with it for a while, at least, if only for the older gentleman who was so gracefully showing her the way and leading her actions. She served soup to the vagrants for about half an hour until she grew impatient that she had not seen the person she desired. She politely excused herself and set about combing the area for any disfigured creatures, for if she did Mr Clare would surely soon follow.

 It was only pure luck that she stumbled across him, she came to the very edge of the shelter to a brick wall and very nearly didn’t peer around the corner. Deciding it would be foolish to not check every crevice she did so and found him, his back against the wall, looking just as pale and striking as he did amongst the foliage outside her house.

 “Mr Clare.” She said, catching him off-guard and he jumped, stumbling into a standing position. He looked at her questioningly as he tried to place her voice as she was still wearing the mask.

 “Miss Sommerview?” He asked, looking both petrified and angry simultaneously as she removed the mask.

 “I had to talk to you. I don’t understand-”

 “Did I not frighten you enough?” He cut her off, his voice harsh. “Why don’t you just leave me alone?”

 “What did I do?” Elise asked helplessly. He approached her quickly, standing so close to her that they were breathing the same air and she felt dizzy.

 “There’s something not quite right about you.” He whispered, his eyes penetrating her deeply.

 “Yes.” She admitted. “Want to find out what?” She said playfully, moving in to kiss him but he lurched away as if he were repulsed.

 “Leave me alone.” He muttered, turning from her.

 “You’re not going to get much better than me.”

 He stopped in his tracks before turning back to her. She smirked as if she had the upper hand, which was a complete mystery to him. He couldn’t understand where she had suddenly found all of this self-entitlement. Silently he approached her, wrapping his hand around her wrist and dragging her out of the shelter and into the deprived streets that surrounded it.

Both of them ignored the queer looks they were getting, a deformed man practically dragging a young woman down the street so openly but no-one intercepted them and they made it without interruption. He stopped in front of a tall house that was as scummy as the rest of them and he took her hesitation as an advantage, pulling her up the stairs covered in washing and small, dirty children until they reached the top apartment. He shouldered the door open and looked around as though he was expecting someone to be there but was relieved when there wasn’t.

 “Where are we?” Elise asked, eying up the obvious scientific equipment that littered the room. His hand was still gripping her wrist and he seemed determined to keep it that way as he dragged her further into the room.

“The place where I was born.” He answered ominously.

“You must have had a very happy childhood.” She commented, pausing to finger some of the various blades and scalpels littered across a workbench before he jerked her away, towards a grimy window where various chains were scattered across the floorboards.

She stood in the illumination of the window, soft tendrils of light caressing her curves, her shoulders, her hair. But the look she was giving him didn’t benefit the heavenly light surrounding her; her eyes were hard and challenging, daring him to accost her.

He stepped forward, his hands resting on her shoulders when he abruptly gripped her dress and ripped it into two halves cleanly. She gasped in indignation, left only in her chemise and corset, breathing heavily.

His jaw clenched, his eyes filled with self-hatred before he reached down, picking up the scattered chains and beginning to wrap them around her body.

“I hardly think I’m the threat here.” She commented, shivering against the cold metal chains on her now bare skin.

“Now, I’m not so sure.” He responded in an undertone, pinning her arms against her sides as he continued to encase her in the ribbons of metal.

Once he was completed and she was incapacitated, he stepped back and viewed her with a solemn look on his face. They observed one another, each with a grim look on their faces and in the relative silence they both heard the footsteps coming up the stairs. Then, in an instant, someone barged through the door but halted upon seeing there were people already in the room.

A young man, wiry and unshaven noticed the pair and stopped his progress, his face contorting into a grimace. He noticed the creature first, then the pretty young woman, bound and chained. He averted his eyes to the floor.

“Creator.” He addressed the young man with distain.

The young man didn’t answer; he merely nodded, his jaw tightening as he lurched forward, grabbing a precariously stacked book from one of the overflowing desks and hastily made his way back out of the room again.

“Did he call you creator? Does that mean he made you?”

He thought he could sense reverence in her voice and turned, only to see her eyes bright and excited by the prospect.

“What _are_ you?” He asked in horror, his face crumpling in dismay.

“I’m just like you. A _freak_. Only, my deformity can’t be seen from the outside.”

He winced at her harsh words. But while he took offence, she seemed to delight in words such as ‘freak’.

“I’ll tell you plainly John Claire, you excite me. I chased some of the others from your exhibit, but _you_ , you were the real prize.”

“You’re mad.” He spat.

“I’ve heard worse.” She retorted quickly.

“What is it you want?”

“I want _you_.” She expressed, making a movement towards him but she was held back by her chains.

“So you’re attracted to freaks?” He asked through gritted teeth. “We excite you in some way, awaken something within you that longs for unnatural flesh? My master brought me to life in a laboratory, does that not repel you?”

“No.” She answered, the barest smile crossing her features.

“You do not know the privilege you have, to live in a beautiful body such as yours. Once you are done with the freak show, you can return to normal society and live just as happy as the next person. Yet I am condemned to stay in the circus, bound by my hideous face.”

“Untie me so that you may know happiness, if only briefly. I consider that my mission.” She spoke softly.

He looked physically drained as he reached towards her and began to carefully undo all of the work that had been done.

“John Claire. Now is that the name you gave to yourself?” She asked as he untied her.

“Yes.”

“Because of your love of poetry?”

“Yes.”

He finished with the chains and stepped back. She stepped towards him, maintaining the proximity as she played with the frills on her chemise idly.

“Is there not something within you that longs for me, too creature?”

‘John Claire’ was lost as she seemed determined to torment him.

“Of course. But I so very rarely allow myself to act on those impulses-“

“Allow yourself to act on them now.” She rushed at him, firmly pressing her lips against his.

He started back but she kept her grip firm on his face, dragging him into a smouldering kiss. He seemed reluctant, but he allowed himself to kiss her back, letting his hands run down her sides. She responded eagerly, her hands running over his overcoat and pulling him closer. The only respite she took was to look around and find the wrought iron bed. She grinned, pulling him towards the bed.

*

In a mess and tangle of sheets she got up and dressed herself. He groaned, sitting upright and burying his head in his hands. Why had he been so stupid, so naïve? She had used him for his body, his artificial, contorted body and he had allowed it. It occurred to him that he should have thought on this as a positive experience, a beautiful young woman sleeping with him of her own free will, but somehow it just made him feel more like a freak.

He allowed himself to think of it as a dream-like experience, something ethereal yet tangible, and most certainly nothing to rely on or hope for. He would continue on, just as he always had.

 

_I am: yet what I am none cares or knows,_

_My friends forsake me like a memory lost;_

_I am the self-consumer of my woes,_

_They rise and vanish in oblivious host,_

_Like shades in love and death's oblivion lost;_

_And yet I am! and live with shadows tost_

 


End file.
